


Petite Hotel Suite

by emmaliza



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Free Use, Gags, Jealousy, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: After almost two days missing, Avon goes looking for Blake. He finds something Blake didn't want him to.
Relationships: (briefly) - Relationship, Kerr Avon/Original Male Character(s), Kerr Avon/Roj Blake, Roj Blake/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Petite Hotel Suite

Blake has been missing for just under two days now when Avon decides it is time for to go look for him.

Cally, absurdly trusting as usual, told him not to; that Blake had gone to collect important rebel information and told none of them to follow him, it was important he come alone. Cally might believe all that, but Avon isn't going to have him run out on them because of her faith.

Besides, he thinks with deliberate disinterest, after two days the reason Blake isn't back yet is probably because he's in trouble.

The coordinates were wiped from the teleport after Blake left, he's not a complete fool, but Avon still finds them easy to reverse engineer. Leaving Orac to watch him, he steps into the beam and finds himself in a corridor, small and dark and looking made for creeping through. Not the worst place to trade rebel information, then. Without much hint as to where he should go from here, Avon knocks upon the first door he sees.

Opening it is a man, short, bald, plump, with dark stubble and an air of the criminal about him. He looks Avon up and down. “You want something?”

Avon keeps his face studiously blank, careful not to start something if it isn't going to start itself. It doesn't seem the man is armed, but you never know. “I'm looking for an associate of mine,” he explains. Even under the circumstances, he can't quite bring himself to refer to Blake as a friend. “A tall man, with curly dark hair. Have you seen him?”

The man smirks a little. “Yeah, he's here.” Instinctively, Avon's hand moves to the gun at his hip. “What do you want with him?” Avon blinks. Well, those don't sound like the words of a hostage taker.

In truth, he's not quite sure what he's doing here, if Blake isn't in immediately need of rescue. “Like I said, he's an associate of mine,” he says. “Whatever he's here for, I'm here for.” This man looks surprised, but nonetheless nods and opens the door wider for him. “Follow me.”

He follows, and finds himself led to what looks like a bedroom, all crimson red quilts and elaborate chandelier. Odd. “Wait here,” says the man, and walks out without another word.

Avon blinks, and for lack of anywhere else to sit, he perches himself on the edge of the bed. He finds it deceptively plush and welcoming. Wondering where Blake is and what he's up to has occupied Avon's nights for the past day or so, and he never sleeps that well at the best of times; he is tired.

Avon shakes his head, chuckling to himself. Is this what Blake came here for? A couple of nights in the lap of luxury? He wouldn't think any of them would complain that strongly if Blake simply told them that, but maybe that's why he didn't share to begin with. He thought if he brought them along he'd never get them back.

With a huff, Avon settles onto the mattress. Well, if he has followed Blake all the way here, he might as well take advantage.

* * *

“Should we wake him up?”

Avon barely stirs at the whispers invading his slumber. He must have missed more sleep than he thought. “Nah,” comes a second voice, brash and confident. “That's probably part of it for him. Some people are into that, aren't they? Whole thing's probably being filmed for him.”

Groggy, Avon doesn't quite put together what they're talking about. “Are you sure?” asks the first man, clearly nervous. “He could have worn less clothes then, couldn't he?” Clothes. There is an obvious answer as to why they're talking about his clothes, but Avon's brain is still refusing to put two and two together.

“Maybe that makes it seem more real?” The second man does seem worried. Avon jumps in alarm when he feels himself grabbed in a very intimate area. “Hey baby, is that what you want?”

Adrenaline flooding his veins, Avon is awake in a second, flailing wildly at the man groping him, who jumps back in shock. “Excuse me,” he says, and when he has a little more awareness, he bares his teeth like an animal. “What do you think you're doing?”

The man who felt so entitled to grope him in his sleep seems to lose all his confidence, turning back to his nervous friend for support. “Um, we're sorry,” says the first man, clearly out of his depth. “We thought you were–”

“What, exactly?” Avon stares them down without mercy. “A whore?”

The two of them share an uncomfortable look before the man still pinned against the door shrugs. “Well, yes.”

“They said you were a professional!” adds the other man, oh so helpfully. “They told us you'd come here wanting to be fucked be any man who would have you, we just thought–”

Listening to those words is like being caught out in storm winds (so Avon assumes; you don't have that much familiarity with storms when you've spent most of your life in a sillicone dome), and Avon raises a hand to make the man stop. “Hold on, why on Earth would they think–?” Avon swallows hard. He told the man at the gate he was here for whatever reason Blake was. And they thought that... “I came here looking for a friend.” When he grinds his teeth together, it feels like they're about to shatter. “I don't suppose you two have any idea where he is, do you?”

* * *

Finding Blake is quite an ordeal when he doesn't want to be found. Avon simply has to poke his head into every room along the corridor, trying not to disturb the strangers enjoying their deviancy on their own time. He's never been the most courteous person, but he doesn't like having _his_ privacy invaded either.

He must have passed over a dozen doors before he spots a figure that looks familiar. A man, bound by the wrists and ankles to the frame of a bed that looks considerably more spartan than the one Avon was offered. A blindfold and ballgag make it hard to discern any distinguishing facial features, but the distinctive dark curls are there, the strong nose, the small roll of flab around his middle. _Blake?_

As quietly as he can, Avon closes the door behind him. Not quietly enough, though. The man who could be Blake clearly hears him, a muffled gasp escaping around his gag. Noticeably, he does not struggle against his restraints.

Drawn like a moth to the flame (Avon's never even _seen_ a real moth), Avon creeps closer to the bed. As he approaches he realises with disgust just how _wet_ Blake is, with sweat, and with milky white trails drying across his skin. It doesn't take a genius to realise what those might be. Blake shivers as he hears footsteps coming into his space, and his cock, lying red and sore against his thigh, stiffens with every step Avon takes.

Unthinking, Avon crouches beside the mattress, running his hand softly across Blake's bare thigh and squeezing the pliant flesh there. Blake whimpers, squirms underneath him, and a drop of pre-come beads at the head of his thick cock. He is sticky with other man's fluids, disgusting, but still keening for more as Avon touches him, practically begging.

Avon moves his hand upward, caressing Blake's balls as softly as he can, as if he's afraid to break them. He smirks to himself. Slowly he draws his hand further up, stroking Blake's shaft, tightening his grip until he squeezes the precome out of him, staining his fingers.

He shifts back down and teasingly strokes his fingers across Blake's hole, finding it sore and red, loose with overuse, and yet Blake still keens his hips up as he does it, welcoming more.

The spell cast by having Blake here, naked and ready in front of him, and Avon pulls back, wiping his fingers clean on his thick leather trousers. “Blake.”

Blake freezes, Avon's voice cutting through the warm, musky air. He tries to say something, but of course he is still gagged.

Avon smirks. This perhaps counts as taking advantage, but it is something to be able to argue with Blake and not have him able to argue back. “I came looking for you, you know,” he says. “You've been gone almost two days. I thought you were in trouble. But you aren't, are you?”

He runs his fingers across Blake's stomach. Blake no longer keens to the touch now he knows who it's coming from, but his erection doesn't falter either. Avon reaches his chest and squeezes the fat surrounding one of his nipples – if you squint it doesn't look entirely unlike a woman's breast, although why that should make this whole situation any less disastrous, he doesn't know.

“I admit, I wasn't terribly clear with our hosts,” Avon says, anger creeping into his voice as he plays with Blake's nipple. “I told them I was here for the same thing you were. And you know what they did? They left me in a room, and told every man here I was theirs to fuck, if they wanted.” Avon squeezes Blake's tit until he can hear him hiss. “Because that's what _you_ want, isn't? That's what you've been doing for days? Whoring yourself to anyone who'll have you?”

Blake turns his head all of a sudden, hiding his face in shame despite being unable to meet Avon's eye anyway. Avon lets go, but the fury does not leave his voice. “Well, Blake?” he asks. “You sure seemed to be enjoying it when I came in. Do you want more?”

Throat gulping, Blake does not answer, while Avon simmers with rage. Blake has let so many men fuck him, is he really going to say no? His cock aches against stiff leather confinement, anger and arousal one and the same at this moment. He is furious for a logical reason, of course. It's just his blood is far too busy boiling in his veins to travel to his brain and figure out what it is.

He takes a rough hold of Blake's cock again, squeezing as he leans in and licks the sweat from Blake's collarbone. “Come now Blake, you wanted to be fucked by any man,” he murmurs in his ear. “Say what you will about me, I am at least one of those.”

After a few seconds panting around his ballgag, Blake slowly, reluctantly, nods. Avon takes that as permission. He leans upward and nips at Blake's jawline, getting a taste of him, before pulling away to strip himself in a hurry.

If he doesn't act fast, he will think better of this trainwreck, he knows it. His clothes collapse in an uncharacteristically messy pile at his feet, and as he watches Blake's naked body shiver while he waits, the jealousy burns through him, scorching and completely unjustified. Blake could offer himself to any man who happened to walk into his whorehouse, but not to him. Avon only found him here because he followed along afterwards, like a pup at his heels, desperate for attention. He can fuck Blake, but that won't prove anything. He will be one in a long line of anonymous cocks, used for pleasure and then discarded, because of course Blake could never trust him enough to himself over in any real way...

Avon eyes Blake's own cock, thick and swollen eager against his belly, and knows what he has to do.

Spitting on his fingers, Avon lets the adrenaline carry him along, ignoring the fact this is going to be both awkward and painful. He strokes Blake's prick once more, letting their fluids mingle and drip across his palm. “I wonder,” he says, kneeling on the bed, hissing as he presses his fingertips against his entrance, “does that make it easier for you, letting yourself be tied up and used by whoever comes along? Do you not have to feel responsible then, if you're not the one choosing any of it, if you're not the leader of men anymore, whose every act is a political statement? Always the martyr, Blake.”

Unbidden, a burst of sympathy strikes in Avon's gut before he can force it away. How damaged Blake must be, that this is the _only_ way he can enjoy sex without it being another self-imposed burden. He could never give himself like this to Avon, or to any of them on the Liberator, because he feels responsible for them. Sometimes, Avon wonders just what the Federation did to him.

He forces those thoughts away, too far gone to have second thoughts now. When he pushes his fingers inside himself it burns, and he hisses in pain, but he carries on anyway. Isn't that what Blake has always done to him, burnt him from the inside out? Avon doesn't care much for pleasure without pain anyway. He doesn't trust it.

There's no turning back now. Avon shuffles himself into position, holding Blake's cock tight as he lowers his body. He grits his teeth as the thick of it starts to intrude; it's agonising, taking something so big and so dense with so little preparation, but that is how one must always deal with Blake, and Avon won't have him think he can't handle it.

Blake gasps as Avon's hole swallows him up, and Avon, breathless, laughs a little. “Come now, Blake, are you really that surprised?” he asks, armed braced against Blake's broad chest. “As much as I hate to admit it, you have a nice cock. Am I really the only person who has ever wanted to take a ride?”

No, of course he isn't. Half the galaxy must think about the rebel icon dropping out of the sky one day to fuck them senseless. Probably why Blake wants _this_ instead.

Blake bucks into his heat by instinct, like an animal, and Avon moans as the deep thrusts go through him, cock jumping and spurting. It hurts, yes, but ecstasy buzzes beneath his skin with every painful move. Blake is _helpless_ , bound, blind, and gagged, swallowed up entirely in Avon, and Avon feels full of him, feels swollen from the inside out...

He has been bouncing on Blake's cock for scarcely more than a minute when it overtakes him, he is crying out and coming so easily you'd think he'd been paid for it, his semen shoots wildly across Blake's chest, becoming yet another stain on his body.

It takes a second for the ecstasy to fade, of course, but once it does Avon is mortified. Even like _this_ Blake still has such control of him, can wreck him so easily. Blake is still hard as a rock inside him, hips quivering as he struggles not to fuck into him, and Avon pulls away, leaving Blake cold and alone.

He is in a rush to get his clothes back on, to extract himself from just how ugly this has become, but just before he's ready Blake groans loudly. He sounds far more like the Blake Avon knows.

Avon looks back down, sees Blake gasping around the gag, fucking the air, cock red and leaking. Like that, the petty spite takes back over. “Oh, I see,” he crouches beside the bed, “you think you deserve to come now, don't you? Since you made me do so. Such a good boy, yes...”

He trails one teasing finger along the length of Blake's cock, still filthy with his own insides, and watches him keen toward it like he's hypnotised. Then he stops. “No.” Blake makes muffled noises of protest as he pulls his hands back to himself, but there's nothing he can do about it. “After all, why should I bother? Another man will be along to have their turn with you soon enough.” Really, that is the crux of it, that he is just one in a long line to Blake – he will never be as important to Blake as Blake is to him. “Isn't that what you wanted? To be treated like you weren't yourself?”

Becoming his worst self, Avon raises the teleport bracelet to his lips. “Orac, get me out of here.”

* * *

When he beams back up it's not Orac he finds waiting for him at the controls. It's Cally.

Her eyes show all the fury Blake's could not. “You found him then?”

Avon sighs, walking stiffly as his anus starts to feel the ache of what he's put it through. “I did.” He doesn't bother to ask how she knew what he was doing. Presumably, much like Blake, he was not as subtle as he thought he was.

“I hope you realise, you had no right to intrude upon any of that,” Cally tells him. “It wasn't any of your concern.”

_She knew._ Of course Cally knew, that is why she was so eager to dissuade him from investigating further. Cally knew, because Blake trusts her implicitly – he could tell her and know she would not shame or judge him. He could never tell Avon, he would just assume Avon would use it against him – the fact Blake would be entirely correct in that assumption somehow does not make it sting any less.

“Be that as it may,” Avon shuffles from side to side, trying to alleviate his soreness, “I can't say I regret it,” he lies, and walks out, to try to get some sleep and not to imagine who it is right now who's making Blake come like he couldn't.

* * *

The next morning Blake is there on the flight deck, as if he never left. Avon blinks, wondering if the past couple of days have all been a dream. “Avon, there you are, good. I want a report on the defence shields. I don't think we're as safe as we think we are.”

Blake does not even bother to look at him before giving out orders, and Avon is so bamboozled he complies without question, which gets him a dubious look from Jenna. Cally busies herself with her computer, which is quite clever of her. Vila, just passing by, leans over to whisper in his ear. “You too, huh?” he asks. “Came back in a right mood. Say, you don't happen to know what he's been up to, do you?”

Avon stares at the back of Blake's head. He doesn't know if Blake heard what Vila just said. He doesn't know if he cares. He doesn't know if Blake is burning with anxiety, terrified Avon is about to reveal his shameful secret to anyone he can.

“How should I know what he gets up to?”


End file.
